Dangerous Games
by EccentricallyYours
Summary: As her eyes adjusted and she took in the dirt floor, grimy stone walls, and steel bars in front of her, her worst fears were confirmed. She was being kept prisoner by the Death Eaters. DHr.
1. Still Alive

Title: Dangerous Games

Summary: Hermione gets taken prisoner during a battle; Draco is being punished for his hesitation and is made her caretaker.

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns the characters; nothing is mine but the plot.

Warnings: Nothing really this chapter.

Author's Note: Thanks already for being interested enough to get this far. I hope I don't disappoint too much. And by the by, things are going to be pretty somber and depressing for the first few chapters, but once the ball gets rolling, that's when some humor and light-hearted fun will start making an appearance. Oh, and yes, I know, the title is totally lame. I may change it later on.

**Chapter One**

Wherever she was, it was cold and dark and damp. Her body felt as if it had been thrown against a brick wall repeatedly, and an awful smell filled her nostrils. She opened her eyes feebly, hesitantly. If she was still alive, it either meant a miracle or hell, and she was betting on the latter. As her eyes adjusted and she took in the dirt floor, grimy stone walls, and steel bars in front of her, her worst fears were confirmed. She was being kept prisoner by the Death Eaters.

"_Hermione, RUN! We're outnumbered, we'll have to go back to Number 12 and regroup."_

"_Hurry, they're just behind that hill!"_

"_Go for the woods, we'll be able to Apparate there!"_

"_Harry, are you okay?"_

"_I'm fine, keep going!"_

"_Ron? Are you there? RON!"_

Hermione's flashback was interrupted by the opening of her prison door. She stared in amazement, momentarily stunned into silence, by Draco Malfoy putting down a cup of water and a plate of bread at her feet. That was certainly a surprise; last she had heard he was dead. He looked clean, although his hair was missing its usual gel, and looked slightly tousled. Her first idiotic thought was that he had been messing around with someone (Pansy Parkinson, most likely), but by the troubled expression on his face, she somehow doubted that. A smirk would have been in order if he had just gotten some.

With Herculean effort she pulled herself up into a sitting position. "Malfoy?" she croaked out, her voice quiet and strained from a lack of use. She had no idea how long she had been unconscious. He didn't answer her, didn't even look at her. However, sitting up did offer an explanation as to why it smelled so horrible: she had vomited in her hair.

"Malfoy, where am I?"

He turned around and walked out of her cell, shutting the door behind him quietly, with was uncharacteristic. Removing his wand from a pocket in his cloak, he pointed it at the door, and it locked itself. She hadn't even noticed it being unlocked when he came in. Then he turned on his heel and began walking purposefully away.

Mustering all of her strength, she dragged herself over to the wall of bars and looked out. Along the dark hallway lit only by four weakly burning torches, a few more cells were scattered. Hers seemed to be the only one occupied. Malfoy had already reached the end of the hall when she yelled at him in a last desperate attempt to find out where she was, but his black cloak billowed out behind him as he swiftly ascended the spiral staircase up and out of sight.

She slumped back against a nearby stone wall, feeling defeated and exhausted. She reached out for the water that sat in a clear cup in front of her, not realizing until just now how incredibly dry her throat was, and noticed a long scratch along her arm, the blood crusted over. Upon further inspection, she located four more wounds along her body, one rather deep, and another still bleeding slightly. She tried as best she could to clean them with her dirty robes, but that only seemed to make it worse. She didn't even bother searching for her wand to heal them; she knew that it had been taken. Not feeling particularly hungry, she decided to save the bread for later, and curled up in the corner to sleep. She didn't want to think right now.

ooooooooooooooooooooooo

_A red light zoomed past her in Harry's direction, grazing his elbow and making him stumble._

"_Harry, are you okay?"_

"_I'm fine, keep going!"_

_Her breath came in ragged gulps, and there was a stabbing pain in her chest every time she exhaled. She pumped her arms, willing herself to move faster. The woods were right in front of her, not thirty feet away._

_There was a flash of green, then the thump of a body coming in contact with the ground._

Hermione jerked awake as she felt a wet rag run along her calf, and thought for a moment she must still be dreaming, because the sight before her was too ludicrous to actually be happening. But as the cloth came in contact with the gash on her leg and made her gasp in pain, she decided that Draco Malfoy really was tending to her wounds.

Feeling too exhausted to pester him for more answers she figured wouldn't come, she lay in the dirt and allowed Malfoy to continue. Whether it was out of pity (doubtful) or instruction, she was grateful that her cuts were being healed. Thinking about the flash of green, tears began to roll down her face, cutting through the mud that had dried on. She closed her eyes and bit her tongue, wanting to salvage whatever dignity she had left. As Malfoy rose to leave, she threw out her hand to grab his ankle and stop him. He didn't look at her, but he didn't shake her off either.

"Malfoy, why am I still alive?"

He pulled his ankle from her grasp and walked out, closing the door and locking it. His eyes on the floor, he said distantly, "Because the Dark Lord wants you to be."

He left Hermione alone to trace the lines his heels had left in the dirt, tears still running down her cheek.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooo

There you have it, the first chapter. I thank you for having made it this far, and hope your interest is peaked enough to continue in the story. I have about the next three chapters planned out, but from there, who knows where the story will go. Feedback is much appreciated, whether it be praise, criticism, or what you'd like to see happen in the story (who knows, maybe I'll use it)!


	2. Unbreakable

Title: Dangerous Games

Disclaimer: don't own nothin' but the plot.

Warning: I quit with the warning thing. I generally don't do it. Pretty much the reason why I rated this fic M is for later chapters, for…sexual scenes. Whoo!

Author's Note: Oh, thanks for the reviews you guys !

**sayneverdie**: ha wow, I appreciate that, thank you very much

**Gulistanklik**: yeah, I've never been one to like angst that much. I mean, especially for now while I'm still introducing stuff, it'll be a little depressing. But I hope it meets your expectations.

Just so you know, I like to make Death Eaters kind of OOC behind closed doors. In a deranged, humorous sort of way (if I ever start back up with One Last Thing again, you'll see what I mean, since they immediately take Hermione under their wing in that one…but anyway, I digress). I don't want to take it _too_ far, but you'll see at some point in the story. I just wanted to tell you now so when Bellatrix starts calling Draco snugglemuffin or something you aren't like "wait, what?" Know that's just how I like to roll.

Incidentally, she _isn't_ going to call Draco snugglemuffin, it was just an example.

**Chapter Two**

The cell she was in was not big; Hermione stood tall for a girl her age at five feet, seven inches, but she could barely stretch her body out with her arms over her head. The floor was cold and made of dirt, the walls colder and made of stone, with no windows. A black chamber pot was in the corner, which magically emptied itself whenever she used it. Across the hall was another cell identical to hers, except that at the top it had a small window. She couldn't see out of it, but it helped her judge with the time when light came through and shifted directions. She had gathered that she had been here almost three days, that when she stood facing out of her cell she was facing east, and it had been almost seven hours since Draco had last come down and given her food.

He now only came down when she was sleeping, which she figured was a way to get out of being further questioned, although she did not know how he always knew when she _was_ sleeping. Despite her hunger, she did not want to nap, because for the past few days that was basically all she had been doing. Not to mention she had finally both regained her strength and gotten sick of revisiting the last few moments before she was stunned in her dreams. Also, at some point during one of her deeper slumbers, her cloak had been taken, and she did not want to risk any more of her clothing. It was cold enough already, being November, and now all she had to keep her warm was a pair of jeans, some wooly socks (her shoes had been taken as well), and an old turtleneck.

She curled up with her knees pulled under her chin and wrapped her arms around her legs, and began reasoning with herself.

_I am probably going to die. Harry likes to play the hero, but Lupin and Mrs. Weasley and everyone else has enough sense to convince him not to this time. One person isn't worth the lives of many, especially not **his** life. The only person who can get me out of this is me, and I really don't see that happening. So I have to accept it. And promise myself not to break. No matter what happens, if I get tortured, or they starve me, or beat me, whatever, I can NOT give them information. My refusal to surrender will be my last act for the cause._

"It's time."

Hermione whipped her head up. Malfoy was standing in front of her cell, holding the door open, and looking off down the hall.

"Time for what?"

"Come with me."

She stood up shakily and shook back her hair. She stepped out and without looking at her, Malfoy motioned toward the staircase.

"Aren't you going to tie my wrists or something?" she asked rather moronically. _Why do I keep asking the stupidest questions?_

"No," he said simply, and began his way down the hallway. She followed obediently.

He led her up the staircase, which was shorter than she had imagined. It opened out into a long, dark passage, with about five doors on each side. Malfoy walked at a brisk, determined pace, although his face showed no emotion at all. He was wearing all black; black pants, black shoes, a black button down shirt, and a black hooded cloak. Hermione had the sneaking suspicion that wherever they were going, there would be more people dressed like him.

Most of the doors were closed, but as they made their way down the hall, Hermione caught a glimpse of a tall, beautiful room that almost took her breath away. It was a library, about three stories high, with shelves on every wall filled to the top with books. A richly colored, intricately decorated carpet was placed over the hardwood flooring, and large black and green-leathered chairs surrounded a huge fireplace on one side of the room.

"Where are we?" she asked quietly, almost to herself, and jumped when Malfoy answered.

"Malfoy Manor," he said unfeelingly.

"Your house?"

He said nothing and continued walking.

As they reached the end of the hall, Malfoy pulled out his wand and whispered an incantation that, by the sounds of it, unlocked the door in front of them. Before it opened, Hermione saw that two emerald-encrusted serpents were intertwined on the front, their tongues lashing out. Malfoy stepped inside and was almost immediately engulfed by darkness. Hermione peered in uncertainly, and in a brief moment of insanity she considered making a run for it.

"Come in," a cold voice ordered.

She took a deep breath, and willed herself not to show any sign of weakness.

She stepped in bravely, her eyes moving around swiftly to take everything in. The room was longer than the library, but only half as tall. She could sense rather than see about ten cloaked figures standing toward the other end of the room, where Voldemort sat in a large, throne-like chair that had a small circle of light surrounding it. The snake Nagini was curled up at his feet, and the only cloaked figure she could actually see stood at his left side, head bowed. Despite her thumping heart, she walked up with her head held high, her brown eyes staring into his red ones determinedly. She stopped about five feet from him. A woman hissed from the darkness.

"You should be on your knees, you filthy, insolent little mudblood."

The cackles of the other Death Eaters echoed around the room.

"Now, now, Bellatrix, our little friend has been kept alive because she can be useful, and I won't have you insulting her into silence." He turned his ugly, white head toward her. "Your Professor informs me that you are always quite eager to answer any question an authority figure asks of you. Ms. Granger, I would be much obliged if you would inform me of the whereabouts of one of your little friends. I'm sure you know the one I'm talking about, because it can't be the other one, since he is dead."

There was more laughter, and Hermione's entire body stiffened. She sneered up at Voldemort, and said nothing. He shook his head tauntingly.

"I admire your courage, mudblood, as you Gryffindors like to call it, but I'm afraid I don't have time for your silly games. Perhaps a bit of _persuasion_ might make you more willing to talk. Severus, would you do the honors?"

The cloaked figure beside him stepped out toward Hermione, removing his cloak. The long greasy hair and crooked nose were all too familiar, and as Snape pulled out his wand with a smirk, she realized that he was about to perform the Cruciatus Curse on her.

"With pleasure, my lord. _Crucio_!"

As a searing pain soared through her body, Hermione fell to the ground, unable to stop her body from contorting into painful positions. Her head arched back and her eyes rolled into her head, it felt like her body was on fire, it felt like a thousand knives were stabbing her over and over again, but she couldn't scream, she couldn't give them that pleasure-

And then it was over. She was on her hands and knees, panting, gasping to catch her breath. Snape stood over her, looking at her like she was a disgusting, pus-filled creature that had just oozed all over his shoes, and she was suddenly filled with such a terrible rage and hate for him that it was all she could do to keep herself from jumping on him and ripping his heart out of his chest. Voldemort leered at her.

"Now, let's try this again, shall we? Where is the famous _boy-who-lived_?"

Hermione looked resiliently at the floor, still panting.

"Oh, I see. You'd like to have a little more fun? Well, that can be arranged. Perhaps you would like to play with Ms. Granger this time, Bellatrix?"

Hermione looked up, and one of the figures emerged from the darkness. She threw off her hood and thrust out her wand with zeal. Her long black hair hung down her back, and her hooded eyes were filled with a fanatical excitement.

"Thank you, my lord. _Crucio_!"

Hermoine's body was once again flooded with an excruciating pain, it reached every inch of her, it was agonizing, she couldn't hold out much longer-

-she screamed, tears were streaming down her face, her body slammed against the floor and she felt her lip bust open, she wanted it to end, she wanted to die, she didn't care-

And it ended again. The Death Eaters around her were all laughing, clapping, enjoying the show. Bellatrix was smiling euphorically, and Hermoine lay exhausted on the ground. A few of the Death Eaters threw dirt and spit on her, and out of the darkness she recognized the smooth voice of Lucius Malfoy: "Mud to mix with your blood, how fitting."

Voldemort silenced them all by raising his hand, and Bellatrix, with one last triumphant look down at Hermione, resumed her place in the darkness. Voldemort stared at Hermione, his eyes squinted into slits so small it was a marvel he could see out of them.

"Now," he said, in a lower, more dangerous voice, "tell me where Mr. Potter is."

Gathering all her power, Hermione raised herself up, and stared daggers at him, blood running down her chin.

"_No_," she growled defiantly, the first word she had said since entering the room, and a silence fell over the Death Eaters.

Voldemort scrutinized her for a moment, then looked away.

"Very well. Draco, would you please escort the mudblood back to her cell."

Without a word, Malfoy came forward and took her by the arm, heaving her up into a standing position, then quickly let her go. He began walking toward the door, expecting her to follow, but she stood there, body trembling, and spat at Voldemort's feet.

"I will _never_ break. So go ahead and kill me, you coward."

Bellatrix gasped, and darted out at Hermione with her wand raised.

"You unworthy, disrespectful mudblood-"

"Bellatrix," Voldemort boomed out. She jerked her head toward him, but did not move her wand from Hermione's direction.

"Draco, take the mudblood to her cell now."

Malfoy lifted his wand, and she suddenly felt herself moving against her will toward the door. It shut behind them once they reached the corridor, and was not removed until she was back in her cell. She fell against a wall, worn out, while Malfoy conjured up a basin of water and a washing rag. He set them down inside her cell, then walked out and closed the door. She stared at it, mesmerized by her reflection in the water. She didn't even recognize herself. Her hair was matted, tangled together in a horrible mess, and it even had a few twigs and leaves stuck inside. Huge dark circles were under her eyes, her face was streaked with mud, and her lip was swollen. She looked tired and dirty and not alive. Malfoy began walking down the hall.

"Harry told me about the Astronomy Tower. About how Dumbledore was trying to convince you to switch sides. And how he swears he saw your wand drop."

Malfoy stopped and slowly turned around. She looked up, and their eyes locked. It was the first time he had actually looked at her.

"Why did you hesitate?"

His expression did not change, his face didn't even twitch. He stood silent for a moment, then questioned her.

"Why did you stop running?"

She just looked at him.

He turned around and continued down the hallway. Hermione knelt on the ground, tucked her feet under her, and began to undress. She pulled the water basin toward her, brushed away a tear, and began to wash off her body.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Author's Note: So there's my Christmas gift to any of you reading, an update. I hope you enjoyed it! Please review, that can be your gift for me, yay. God that sounds lame. Anyway, reviewing would be stellar.


	3. Glimpses

Title: Dangerous Games

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns it all.

Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews everyone, they are much appreciated! Hope you like this chapter.

**Chapter Three**

"You will be as a lowly House Elf, helping them clean and cook and serve during dinner. Do not try to run away, do not snoop around the house, and do not try and contact any of your stupid friends. If you do any of these things, _he_ will know, and you will be killed immediately without question. Once a week you will be _honored _by being placed in the presence of the Dark Lord, and a worthless little mudblood like yourself should be grateful for the opportunity. Each week he will question you, and each time you do not provide him with satisfactory information, you will be punished as he sees fit. Draco will be down shortly with your uniform and specific instructions of your duties."

Hermione stared up at Bellatrix Lestrange, who was towering over her outside the cell. Hermione figured she had been ordered to sit because she was two inches taller than the woman, who obviously preferred to look down to people. Bellatrix glared at Hermione for a few moments, hatred oozing from her every pore. Then without waiting for acknowledgement from Hermione that she understood, Bellatrix stomped off down the hall, and Hermione twirled her thumbs while waiting for Malfoy to come down. She couldn't explain it, but knowing she would be kept alive until she gave the Death Eaters information elevated her mood considerably. Voldemort apparently thought she would break eventually, and since she knew he regarded the information she possessed as highly valuable, she decided she had quite a bit of time left on Earth. However, she didn't understand why they didn't just give her Veritaserum, but shrugged it off as them liking to torture her. Perhaps when they finally got tired of it they would force her to drink some.

She heard footsteps and stood up, eager to be able to get out of her cell and walk around. Malfoy entered, his black cloak now gone. He held folded clothes in his arms, and when he reached her cell, he handed them to her through the bars. She accepted them almost graciously, also keen to get into some clean garments. The outfit was simple; a long black velvet skirt, a plain white, button-down shirt, and black shoes. She looked up at him expectantly. His eyes were off to the side, staring dully at the patch of light on the floor. He spoke in a monotonous voice.

"This is your uniform, and you are to wear it every time you leave your cell. You are to go into every room on the right side of the hallway at the top of stairs and clean it. You will find cleaning supplies in the first room; take them with you to every room after. Do not snoop around. When you are finished, snap your fingers, and a House Elf will appear to take you down to the kitchen, where you are to help prepare dinner."

He unlocked her door, then turned around and began walking away. Despite herself, Hermione could not say she was eager to run into any of the Death Eaters, especially Snape.

"Malfoy?" she began timidly, "who…who will be up there?"

He did not turn around as spoke, he continued walking down the hall, but she detected a softer tone, almost as if he felt sorry for her.

"No one. Everyone is out of the house now, even the Dark Lord, and only a few will return for dinner."

"Okay," she replied thankfully, relieved, but he was already up the stairs and didn't hear.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooo

After dressing, Hermione opened her cell door quietly and made her way into the dark hallway. Trying to escape didn't even cross her mind; she hated Voldemort, but she didn't underestimate his abilities as a powerful wizard, nor did she doubt what Bellatrix had said. It was eerily silent, and she hurried to the first door, wanting to get into a room quickly, lest Malfoy had been wrong and someone walked up. She closed the door behind her with a snap, turned around, and gasped audibly at what she saw.

The room before her was not very large; each wall was about 10 feet long and 10 feet tall. But each wall was a mirror. She looked around at all the Hermiones staring back at her, their eyes wide, and whipped around, because the door had disappeared. She pressed her hands where the door had once been frantically, and stumbled out into the hallway. Breathing heavily, her hand over her heart, she opened the door and went back in. The floor and ceiling were not mirrors, but looked as if below/above a piece of glass was some shining, silvery substance that appeared to be moving, like the contents of a Pensieve. It was a remarkably pretty, though incredibly intimidating room.

In the corner was a broom and a dustpan, a few rags, a stool, and a spray bottle of cleaning solution. Hermione set about sweeping the floor, then moved on to wash all the mirrors. When she was done, she carefully exited, trying her best to touch where the door was as little as possible so as not to leave fingerprints. She felt that an inadequate cleaning job would not be accepted kindly by the Death Eaters.

She moved on to the next room, which was not very tall, but was extremely long. It had stone flooring, and the only furniture was a long, dark mahogany table in the middle with about 30 chairs. There was nothing decorating the walls, no photographs or paintings, and no carpet to give it warmth. Despite its unimpressive aesthetics, the room had a very ominous feel; Hermione guessed that dark deeds were discussed and evil plans were made when the chairs were filled with black-hooded bodies.

The next two rooms were disappointingly normal bedrooms; no dark objects were inside of them, at least not on display, and the only extraordinary thing about them was their lavish decor. The first was decked out solely in blood red and gold coloring, which Hermione found odd, since it resembled Gryffindor. The hangings on the bed were velvet, while the sheets were pure silk. The pillows had gold fringe, as did the velvet curtains on the high windows, and the carpet on the floor. The other room was much more predictable; mostly dark green, with a few silver embellishments.

Then came the library, which Hermione had to admit, she was excited about visiting. She took her time dusting around the mantelpiece, peering interestedly at all the book titles. _1,001 ways to exact revenge_, _A Beginner's Guide to the Dark Arts_, and _Achieving Power by Rather Frowned upon Means_ were among the most notable ones. However, most intriguing was a small black book atop the fireplace that had no title and looked like a diary. Hermione itched to open it, her imagination on overdrive as she imagined it being a detailed account of the Death Eater's plans, but reason intervened and she decided against it. She finished cleaning, then, feeling rather foolish, snapped her fingers as quietly as she could.

Almost immediately a small House Elf appeared, wearing a battered pillowcase. It had an abnormally long, pointy nose (which was saying something, since it was a House Elf), and startlingly blue eyes. Hermione had never seen a House Elf with blue eyes. It looked up at her shyly and curtsied, making her realize it was a girl.

"Hello, Miss," she began bashfully, placing her hands behind her back and dragging one of her toes on the ground around in a circle. "I've been ordered to take you down to the kitchens and make sure you help prepare the meal. I'm terribly sorry."

Hermione smiled at the small elf, and figured it must be quite young.

"It's fine, I'm happy to do it. Anything to be out! My name is Hermione, what's yours?"

The elf looked positively alarmed that Hermione was being so kind.

"You don't need to do that, Miss. Just follow me down to the kitchen."

The elf turned promptly and walked out the door, down the long hallway, and went out a door on the left side. Feeling rather confused, Hermione was surprised that it walked so briskly, and hurried to catch up.

The room they entered was small and dingy, with wooden shelves as the only furniture, which were filled with cleaning supplies. It was then that it struck Hermione that this part of the house must be devoted to servant's quarters and rarely used rooms. A short flight of stairs was off to the right, and the small elf ran down them. Hermione followed, then covered her eyes as she was hit with a powerful smell of onions and copious amounts of steam.

The kitchen was rather expansive, though only a quarter of it seemed to be employed. Its size must have been to accommodate for the numerous parties that were thrown. _Death Eater functions, more like_, she thought to herself disdainfully.

About six other House Elves were in the kitchen, all busy with pots and pans, putting things in an oven, taking them out, and stirring ingredients together in a large mixing bowl. She was told reluctantly to peel potatoes by the girl elf, so she situated herself on a stool by a steel countertop and reached out for a potato peeler enthusiastically; she had never _hated_ chores at home, but had never been so ready to be doing _something_ as long as it wasn't sitting around in her cell. As she thought of home, her heart suddenly ached terribly, and she bit her lip and resolutely began to peel.

Hermione spent a good thirty minutes trying to get the elf to give her name; she kept saying Hermione had no need to be bothered with such petty things, seeing as how Hermione was _above_ her. This enraged Hermione, because the House Elves there had obviously been brainwashed, but she finally coaxed it out of her (Missy). She kept trying to make conversation, but Missy seemed completely petrified that she was treating her as an equal, so after a few minutes she stopped, and contented herself with humming as she chopped up various vegetables.

Being around all the food made Hermione's stomach growl loudly, and since the Elves had not been instructed to not feed her, they joyously handed her all kinds of food. Hermione accepted everything with only a slight twinge of guilt at being served so fervently, and even placed a few things in a hidden pocket she had found inside her skirt.

With dinner ready, six of the House Elves including Missy lined up, five who held golden plates laden with food, and one holding two bottles of elfish-made wine. "Now," Missy whispered as they began walking up a stairway at the far end of the kitchen, "since it's your first night you're only expected to stand and watch, and learn all the different signals and how things are done. Then tomorrow night will be your first night of actual service." Missy abruptly stopped talking as they entered the dining room, and Hermione felt grateful that she could stand surreptitiously in a corner. Hopefully, whoever was eating would soon forget that she was there, and would not harass her too long

All of her least favorite people in the world were situated at the table, excluding Voldemort and Umbridge, although her hate for one was slowly evaporating, even though she didn't notice it yet. Lucius was seated at the head of the table, which looked almost identical to the one in the Conspiracy Room (as she had dubbed the ominous room), except only half as long. On his right side was Narcissa, who looked unusually diminished, and beside her Snape, who was talking to her husband. Malfoy was on Lucius's left, staring straight ahead blankly, and Bellatrix sat beside him. She was glaring straight at Hermione, looking incredibly smug.

"Well," she drawled, "if it isn't the little mudblood who's come out to play. Finally in your place, are you? Serving your superiors?"

"Actually, Madam," began Missy, "she won't be serving you tonight-"

"Quiet!" yelled Bellatrix, sneering at the small elf. Missy squeaked with fright, almost dropping her plate. "Did anyone give you permission to speak?!"

Missy's eyes filled up with tears as she put her plate in front of Snape, then backed up behind him, her head bowed and her lower lip trembling. Hermione was almost overcome with the urge to slap Bellatrix across the face, but she folded her hands behind her back and dug her nails into her skin until the desire passed.

Fortunately, daunting the elf had satisfied Bellatrix's need to put down others for the time being, and she turned toward Malfoy with an almost pleasant look on her face.

"So, Drakey, are you thinking about asking this Parkinson girl to marry you? She comes from a respectable, pureblood family, and you know your father asked your mother to marry him during their seventh year at Hogwarts. Celia Nott tells me she's a charming girl, you better snatch her up before her Theo does!"

Hermione had to bite back a laugh, not wishing to draw attention to herself. _Bellatrix's tone is almost…motherly. Apparently she has a soft spot for…Drakey._

"Pansy isn't a serious girlfriend, Aunt Bella. I doubt I'll ask her to marry me. I don't plan on getting married anytime soon anyway."

Malfoy's tone was dead, completely devoid of feeling. It unnerved Hermione. It was unnatural for someone to be that detached.

"You'd be better off marrying Pansy now like Bella says; girls worthy of having the name Malfoy are few, and even fewer will be the number of ones who will actually accept your hand, what with your complete failure at achieving even the simplest of tasks the Dark Lord assigns you." Lucius Malfoy cut into his steak forcefully, throwing his son distasteful glares as he spoke. Narcissa kept silent, her hand shaking as she reached for her wine.

Malfoy said nothing as he reached for the salt and pepper to put on his mashed potatoes.

"Your father is right, Draco," Snape interjected after setting down his glass. "Millicent Bulstrode came from a decent enough family, but Pansy is much easier to look at."

Lucius Malfoy grinned at Snape appreciatively, and Hermione was revolted by their utter chauvinism.

"Then there are the Hermione Grangers of the world," said Snape silkily as he turned toward her, and Hermione saw Bellatrix's eyes light up with excitement. "Tolerable enough, at first glance. But once you learn she is a mudblood, you are barely able to even look at her."

Hermione had to bite her tongue and dig her nails into her hand to keep from lashing out this time.

The rest of dinner continued in a similar manner; Bellatrix doting on Malfoy, his father demeaning him, Narcissa remaining quiet (although her face became increasingly redder with each glass of wine she consumed), Snape agreeing with his father, and either Bellatrix, Lucius, or Snape insulting her. She could have easily tuned them out and ignored their comments, but her lack of human interaction made her desperate for anything, and she listened intently to everything they said to one another (so by the time they got around to insulting her, she couldn't tune them out). By the end of dinner, the skin on her hand was broken in several places, and was even bleeding in a few.

The House Elves all stepped forward to retrieve the dirty dishes from the table once everyone was finished eating, then they formed a line and scuffled out, back down to the kitchen. Missy motioned for Hermione to follow her down, and Hermione slowly slipped out of her corner and walked swiftly across the room. As she approached the stairs, however, Lucius and Snape's conversation caused her to slow down.

"I don't know what I'm going to do about Draco, Severus. The Dark Lord is very displeased with him, and I have to admit, I agree with his punishment completely. His behavior lately has not been very pleasing, and I too see him as little more than a servant."

"Well, he doesn't seem as eager as the rest of the children to begin his duties as a Death Eater. Both Crabbe and Goyle have already killed two people, and it is my belief that both of their heads hold little more than air. Draco could not even muster up the conviction to kill Dumbledore, whom everyone else would have gladly gotten rid of; I had to do that for him."

Hermione looked back over her shoulder. Narcissa and Bellatrix had already left the room, and Snape had moved over to take Narcissa's seat. Malfoy was sitting in his chair, his shoulders slumped, and Hermione saw the first emotion on his face since she had been there. He looked like a person so completely defeated and broken that he had lost all hope. It disgusted her that his own father and Snape would talk about him so bluntly in front of him, like he wasn't even there. As if he sensed her watching him, Malfoy looked up sharply. She quickly looked away and hurried down the stairs, but even from the kitchen she could hear his chair scrape against the stone as he stood up and exited the room.

oooooooooooooooooooooo

**Author's Note**: Only one thing to say: review, review, review!


	4. Resistance

Title: Dangerous Games

Disclaimer: It's not mine. Shocker there.

Author's Note: Thanks for all the reviews, everyone! You guys are pretty much awesome.

Yeah, angsty/defeated!Draco isn't my fave either, and I'm trying to somewhat rectify that with this chapter…although…well, nevermind. You'll just have to read the story :-p

And sorry for the delay in the post! I was out of town, and then right when I got back school started again (blah), and all my AP teachers apparently don't seem to care that I like to have a life (even though my free time is spent at my computer writing stories for whatever. I'm aiming to get at LEAST one chapter up a week from now on.

Hope this chapter doesn't disappoint.

**Chapter Four**

"Don't you dare touch any of my things, Granger."

Hermione whipped around. She had been asked (very reluctantly) by Missy to clean Malfoy's bedroom after helping clean the kitchen, and he was now leaning on his door frame, his chiseled features twisted into an expression of deepest loathing. For a few moments she was petrified, her heart thumping wildly against her chest, feeling ashamed in the same way she had when she was scolded by her teacher in second grade for correcting her in front of the class.

Then she squinted her eyes determinedly and rose to the challenge.

"I was instructed to clean your room, Malfoy. _Forgive me_ if that displeases you, but I think it will require me to touch a few things."

He glared at her furiously, his grey eyes flashing dangerously.

"I'd watch your tongue if I were you. The Dark Lord will not act kindly if he hears of you mouthing off _to your superiors_."

The emphasis he placed on his last words made her blood boil. She resisted the urge to slap him as she had in third year. This sudden outburst of animosity confused her; he had not exactly been kind before, but he had been tolerable, and almost treated her with pity. She wondered if it had anything to do with her witnessing him being belittled by his father and Snape. _Probably_, she thought to herself, inwardly rolling her eyes.

Suddenly flooded with an intense amount of weakness, she turned away from the fight and began making his bed. "Get over yourself, Malfoy. I have work to do." As she smoothed out the wrinkles in his black silk sheets (_go figure)_, it struck her how arguing with Malfoy as if they were back at school and involved in a silly battle of wits was very childish and pointless, given her current situation.

Enraged by her dismissal, Malfoy lunged forward and gripped her left arm tightly, swinging her around to face him. She stiffened instinctively, her eyes flying open in surprise as he sneered at her, mere inches away, his teeth bared menacingly. He held both her arms firmly, his nails digging into the soft flesh on her upper arms. She winced.

"Don't you turn away from me, filth. If I say don't touch my things, that means _don't touch them._" He growled the last words, and then flung her away forcefully.

She stumbled backwards into a black leather chair, her heel catching one of its legs, sending her crashing into the floor. Malfoy sniggered cruelly as she fell. She threw her arms out, trying to grab onto something to help steady herself, but all her hands found were the sheets on Malfoy's bed; they came off and joined her on the hardwood floor as her butt smacked it painfully. Feeling her face flush crimson in both embarrassment and resentment, she pushed herself off the floor and leapt toward him. She balled her hands into fist, still gripping the sheets in one hand, as he stared down at her with a mixture of amusement and vague interest.

Hermione was not aware of how much taller Malfoy was than her. The top of her head barely reached his chin, and she had to tip it back to be able to look into his eyes when she was so close. She raised an angrily pointed finger and jabbed it in his face. He leaned back almost unconsciously, as if to make sure she didn't touch him.

"Malfoy, don't _you_ **_ever_** touch me like that again. I don't give a damn that you think I'm worthless filth just because my parents are muggles, and that I'm at your mercy, and Voldemort's mercy, and your _bastard father's_ mercy since I'm your prisoner in this retched house, but I _refuse _to take that kind of abuse, especially from a silly little coward like **you**." Fuming, she threw his sheets at him.

"You don't want me to touch your things? _Fine_. Clean your own damn room."

She marched out, adrenaline rushing through her veins, but her small victory over Malfoy was overshadowed by the fact that her "outburst" would probably not be taken lightly. She was unable to keep visions of Bellatrix Lestrange's ecstatic expression at being allowed to torture her out of her mind as she made her way back to her cell, and although she fell asleep immediately upon entering, the images still haunted her in her dreams.

oooooooooooooooooooooooo

"_Are you ready?"_

_Harry was staring at her intently, and she could tell the anticipation was driving him mad. He could not bear just standing back and waiting, while who knows how many of their friends were getting tortured, murdered…_

"_Just give the word, Harry."_

_He looked around at everyone, his emerald eyes revealing mixed emotions: concern and determination. Hermione was familiar with this look by now; he looked that way every time they were about to duel with the Death Eaters. His determination was fueled by his desire to take as many Death Eaters down as he could, while his concern was brought about by his anxiety for his companions (especially, although he would never say it, Ginny)._

"_Alright, let's go."_

_There was a collective intake of breath as everyone prepared to enter the dark building before them, and Hermione jumped as she felt someone squeeze her hand reassuringly._

"You drool a little when you sleep, Granger."

Hermione awoke with a start, shooting up into a sitting position, and discovered that there was indeed a bit of drool running down the side of her face. She wiped it off quickly with her hand, and then looked at Malfoy contemptuously. He was standing outside of her cell, smirking in a self-satisfied way.

"What the hell do you want?" she asked irritably. He tsked at her.

"Not much of a morning person, are you, Granger."

She glared at him, waiting for an answer to her question.

"I've reconsidered my statements from the previous night. I will allow you to touch my things when you are cleaning my room, as long as you take care to touch everything as little as possible. So you may proceed to my room to commence the cleaning you began yesterday." He looked at her contentedly. She stared at him, her mouth half open in surprise and exasperation, her eyes narrowed, incensed.

"Are you _kidding_ me?"

"Not at all-"

She stood up and grabbed the bars of her cell, seething.

"You self-involved pig! I will _not_ clean your room just because you _deign_ to allow me to touch your things-"

"Oh, I think you'd better reassess that declaration, Granger, unless you'd like me to tell my father you are being disobedient."

She could not believe him. And the way he said disobedient made her sound like a misbehaving puppy. A battle raged inside her head as he watched her expectantly, waiting for a response.

_Ugh, the stupid little ass. I can't believe this. I never would have expected to be at his mercy, and honestly, it's the worst thing in the world…okay, Hermione, calm down. Your life is a little more important than your pride right now. At least he didn't tell anyone what happened last night, right? Which is odd...just go and clean his damn room, it'll at least give you something to do…_

She sighed. "Well, so long as you're resorting to your usual plan of running to Daddy, I guess my options are rather limited."

And grinning to herself at his irate expression, she strode out of her cell and made her way to his room.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Malfoy's room was predictably well-kept; Hermione had always imagined him as somewhat prissy and hygiene-obsessed (what with all the filth comments he directed toward her, it would be blatant hypocrisy for him not to be…sort of), and a neat room would complement that image. She merely had to make the bed with new sheets and do some light dusting, and then she was done.

She had not expected Malfoy to leave her alone in his room, but he had, and although she was disinclined to admit it, her curiosity was peaked. Here she was in the room of one of her greatest enemies, alone…maybe there was valuable information hidden that would be useful to the Order, if she ever managed to escape. What kind of person would she be if she _didn't_ snoop around?

Her mind made up, she checked the hallway to make sure no one was coming, then swept the room with intrigued eyes. The tops of his dresser and bedside table provided nothing of interest; she turned her attention to the bookcase near his door, which was a shock in itself. A hefty portion was devoted to Dark Arts books similar to those in the larger library, and the bottom shelf held all his old schoolbooks.

However, she was taken aback by the number of history books, which were not all obvious. There was the three devoted to the years of Voldemort's previous reign, but also biographies on other well-known, reputably good wizards and witches (like Lyon Locks, who forced Fenrir Greyback into hiding 16 years back), and, most strange of all, _The Art of War_, which was a _muggle_ novel. Hermione stared at it in amazement, but then her eye was drawn away as she caught a glimpse of a relatively small black book that looked as if it had been shoved hastily between two old Transfiguration books.

She immediately recognized it as the book she had seen on the mantel in the library the other day. She listened intently for approaching footsteps for a few moments, and then, satisfied with the silence, cautiously pulled it out of its place.

It looked older up close. The tips of the book were dog-eared, and it flopped about flimsily in her hand. She let it fall open at random, and was startled to see hurried handwriting scrawled across the page. It was a journal.

_Malfoy keeps a journal?_ she thought to herself incredulously.

Upon closer inspection, it seemed to be more of a strategy book than a diary of his thoughts and feelings and daily occurrences (which would have been quite hilarious). She deciphered the crude drawing that took up half of a page to be the Vanishing Cabinet, and realized with a start that she was looking at his plan to get the Death Eaters into Hogwarts from the prior year.

She flipped ahead a few pages to the drawing of a large, plain square, and read the scribbled notes with fascination:

_one shows what you want most, __one shows what you fear most, __one is just a mirror, __still unsure about the fourth. __must be sure to think purpose when looking in, __can other people see too?_

Her eyebrows furrowed, she scanned it once more, wondering what he was on about, until she read the word mirror for a second time.

_The Mirror Room! He's talking about the Mirror Room! If you look into the right one and say you want to know your deepest desire it will show you, like the Mirror of Erised, and then another shows-_

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of approaching steps. She closed the book rapidly and shoved it back where it had been, then stood waiting, her heart racing. The footsteps were not getting louder, however, and eventually died off. Breathing a sigh of relief, she exited Malfoy's room and walked through the deserted yet ornately decorated hallways until she reached the passage that led to the dungeon. As she approached the Mirror Room, her heart rate began to increase, and she slowed down, stopping in front of its door. Reaching a quick decision, she timidly stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

The room looked the same as it had before, though her reflection look considerably less alarmed. She slowly looked around at each mirror, awestruck, wondering which was which. Gazing into the one opposite the door, she thought with the same concentration that was needed to produce the Room of Requirement: show me my deepest desire.

Disappointingly, nothing happened.

Not deterred, she turned to her right, preparing to state the same demand, when the adjacent mirror dissolved temporarily into a plain black wall and Malfoy stepped through the door.

She was frozen. Her eyes were wide and frightened, and she reached for her wand impulsively, but her fingers found nothing other than velvet. He stared at her, completely stunned by her presence.

"What the hell are you doing in here?"

oooooooooooooooooooo

Author's Note: So that was kind of a cliffhanger, except not really. Anyway, I hope that chapter was enjoyable to read, although I'm worried it wasn't particularly interesting. Anyway, I like chapter spoilers, and in the hopes that they spike your interest, especially in case this chapter was off-putting, here they are:

- How will Malfoy react to Hermione being in the Mirror Room?

- Will she get to see her deepest desire or her greatest fear?

- Will the questions of why Hermione didn't run or why Malfoy hesitated finally be answered?

- Will Hermione escape, get rescued, or be killed by Voldemort?

Oh yeah, and please review! Because I would really like your, as the reader, take on what: 1) Malfoy's greatest fear and deepest desire is, 2) Hermione's greatest fear and deepest desire is, and 3) The answers to the aforementioned questions are (even though your idea of what the one about Hermione is referring to _may_ be wrong (but probably not)). Who knows, some of your ideas may show up! (except for your answers to number three, those are already decided, I just want to know what you guys are thinking).


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